There's consequences in all we say and do
Go forward and walk your walk and I'll go ahead and talk my talk
Quite distraught due to the fact that you're too good to be true
I know that the Lord of Accord will be following me like my shimmering shadow wherever I walk
I will walk and walk
And I will talk my talk
I will practice what I preach
To the pupils, I will teach
Pensive propositions is my speech's mission
Honor and think through Constructive criticism
Cleverly-written composition begin to slightly transition
Take correction not for granite...with optimism that is symmetrical like a puny prism
Free-spirited I long to be
With you as long as I thrive to wondrously live
I want to flee and be set free
Let go and have consideration to generously give
Be anxious for nothing
Love all and do your thang
God's spirit is available to us 24/7
I always make my way to 7-eleven
Doing away with the latter days of my lament
Live in the present of yesterday's tomorrow
My mind constantly whirls around like a hurricane near the beach and tornado in the east side of the United States - my mind is cozy in God's tent
Repenting slowly, but surely until sorrow is a healing scar that flies away in recovery like a splendid, spunky sparrow
Hooking up problems I need to fix
At least I don't receive a million kiks
Tweet me, Facebook me, tumblr me...insta me...younow me...
But I'll still be lonely as can be
Fruit of the spirit drives me to drift away from deception's flow that's broad and deceiving
Faithful and loyal with dignity and positivity is what I crave in my character of behave-and-be-brave...
Self-control braces itself upon my inner being and I accept it kindly
Patience paints a picture of peace in the frame of my mind silently
Human nature
Is enmity to God that is evil and impure
It leads to death I'm sure
God's way - the way of life at least in my humble opinion, which will be a fact in the near future
It's okay to be different
It's alright to be working on perfection
As long as you repent
For all the downfalls and sins we've committed that gave you inner infection
Reveal to me His spirit and the life it produces fruitfully
Zealous is the sun that shines upon me oh so dutifully
Gracious be to the sons and daughters of Him who has made the world so beautifully
Until Satan tainted it with sinister avarice and insidious, chaotic catastrophe
Quit your disputes and quarrels and arguing alike
Stop trolling people on the net...or you'll have something to regret
Listen to instruction
Accept correction
You choose destruction or construction
Do you want His amazing affection or His raging rejection!!?
Foundation of faithfulness
Goes to the called ones in God's family alone and He is the Father we look upon
Obliteration of misery's mess
Come on and follow me...I will be your responsible leader from now on
I want knowledge from God
From on high, not down below in Satan's Despising Nature
People just ignore and nod
Approach people in the nicest way and react, act and think good thoughts and good actions and interactions that are grown-up and mature
Need I proclaim my beliefs to all the world, Lord?
Should I explain myself constantly? What's my award? Reward?
What if I commit sins that I can't afford?
I hoard shame in my brain basement, but you played skillfully on the I-forgive-you keyboard
There's a reason behind what God does
Do not remain blind or deaf
The spirit of stupor is splendid to my human nature....and its faithless flaws
I don't understand your plate's creativity, my chill chef
God selects His special chosen one
He sees the nature and character of each and everyone
He is the guide to everlasting life that's full of blessings and miracles
But, my life is full of depression dungeons and mysterious black holes
Eat Christ's flesh and drink His blood of His Father's Wise Sayings and Life-giving Word
You must abstain from lusts of your gullible, heartless hearts and your prayers will be heard
If you don't believe and betray Him for life,
Your life will end in jaded death and strife
I wish I can declare His Word to all nations
But I get nervous and soft-spoken beyond frustrations and heightened hesitations
I'm awkward... Why was I called in His church?
Am I a bird that has nowhere to truly rest and perch?
Predicaments in double trouble dilemmas substantially produce like cells in the body
Free me, heal thee, I die for you to live...I live for you to die...your hard heart makes my softness wither with everybody
Wide and broad are the path of many in this world of woe...and no one fully knows why
Difficulty be to the few who choose the narrow route that leads to constructive criticism by Lotd Most High
Once saved, always saved -
A belief originated in Christianity
I beg to differ - His saving grace has waved
Its effortless goodbye to Human's Atrocity
Labor in prayer, don't swelter
Work in love, sweat off hate and swear not
Be a giver, not a getter
Resist the urge to sin and persevere always, even in the darkness we rot
Discipline yourself
Through enduring self-control
Unlearn Satan's nature, as small as an elf
Compared to God's Giant Word that is a life tool to be rid of the fool inside us as a whole
Doing evil will have its aftershocks sting us like a viper
It will shoot us down, so bite the bullet of the serpent's sniper
I pray that I live in sanctuary city for the time being
I envy the happy-go-lucky and dislike what I'm seeing
Drinking in the Lord's yoke,
Mixed with the Words He spoke
You bind me with a biggo blind fold
Your spirit's intention is to simply scold
Faithful Moses parted the Red Sea
Miracles and curses shelter thee
I never knew that my life was of significance
Until I noticed that everyone is living in ignorance
Except the called ones...
Faith that weigh a trillion tons
Thank God for everything good
His word is a nourishing food
Emerge from the scorching coals and ice fire of your existence
Transform yourself before you remain in ashes' realm...seek repentance
The good news of the Kingdom of God is ringing in my ears
Wondering when it will be that day of awesome forever years
I will walk and walk
And I will talk my talk
I will practice what I preach
To the pupils, I will teach
Fret not the desires on fire and the passionate petitions of your young heart
Do not worship other gods before Him - Frey will fade away from the start
The gods of the east have come to get their revenge towards the gods of the east
The battle between them is beast...it's like enjoying a feast of chaos and commotion and peace and emotion...but their attitudes puff up like the bread ingredients that includes yeast
Inspired by (Matt. 7:13), (Matt. 11:29) and (Hebrews 11:24)

The Roman administrators came for the wealth of our worship
demanding that I crack the church's coffers wide open
for their needs, for the Empire's desperate embellishments,
in place of gold I presented the poor
I told the onery officials that these people of our Faith
were the profits of our labors, of our Light,
when they realized that our monies were out of reach
they reached for I and roasted me alive on this gridiron
my body blackened for the book of your love Lord...
I carry this timber of my torture in sublime humility
to testify not to you thy Christ,
but to reveal the tumultuous glory of our Family's gospel
to the multitudes that are now rising in wonder
at how far the Future sees into the Past,
at how well the Messiah reads hearts,
I was crucified on an X by request
because I believed in this very moment...
From the wilderness to the clear waters of martyrdom
I carried, and held the star of your Becoming,
you once asked me Jesus, what the voice of God sounded like
to which I said,
like truth walking upon smooth fire,
we both found the good fire didn't we,
and now the good fire has come to speak again...
You are not the only ones to speak to Father
Adam and I knew the spark of His love
and the weight of His wrath
when the sun was young
and judgement theoretical,
I am grateful to be here
many of my daughters are here with me
but I have daughters below too
their punishment pains me...
I remember when we buried our dead in secret
when our society was a prayer in the shadows,
I remember the awful yet awesome quietude of the catacombs
thinking to myself that every persecution
could put us one foot deeper in the earth
or would elevate us one foot higher to the heavens,
I tried to serve both Rome and the Christian Cause
as if I could satiate my body's impulses
while sanctifying my soul,
the Emperor discovered the design of my empathy
had me strapped to a tree where the arrows bled me...
As a girl in Alexandria the archives of the world
were at my virginal fingertips,
my father, the Govenor, said I was born with the soul of a scholar
and the touch of a tender teacher,
by the time I was fourteen I had a reputation
as a truth talker, a mind breaker,
summoned to Rome at sixteen
I humbled the haughty henchmen of tough tradition
with a taste for thunder and a case for Christ,
and when the Caesar put my supple body
upon this spiked wheel
my spirit it did not shred but instead
brought the cruel deep dread...
The cost of converting a king was my skin,
this knife taught me how salvation begins,
one swift slice at a time,
we must remove the pelt of vain pontification
shed the dead delusions of ignorant indignation...
I had the scriptures combed into my back
with these quills of insensitive steel,
after the pagan mob's frenzy was fed
and I lay in the dirt bleeding psalms
until the panic and pain in me passed away
I realized that I was not a victim of savage violence
rather, that I was being rescued and rewarded
for my heart's honest diligence...
The seals are snapped
the trumpets teething terrific tornados,
the Horsemen have hurried to the heights and the hollows,
Wormwood has awoken to the Whore's woe
Her tongue is scarlet, cut from the thorns of Her own roses,
Babylon is pregnant with the blasphemous Beast...
At the Last Supper you saw the suspicion in my soul
and the rooster did rile me for my wretched weakness,
I wept as if naked in death
but in your patient wisdom you knew that this searing shame
would serve to strengthen my will
that I would indeed become the fisherman of holy fire,
I went to Rome after your immaculate Ascension
took the Word straight to Nero
turned the smirk to a jerk
brought Simon Magus from the sky to the cement
and laid the temple rock on the spot,
take back the keys and show'em what's up...
Is this forever Jesus,
is this going to be forever my Son...
I am the Law of Love,
I am the living wrath of the Word...
You are Christ, the living Gospel...
J.A.B.
This poem is inspired by, and dedicated to Michaelangelo Buonarroti's
Last Judgement fresco painted on the alter wall in the Sistine Chapel.
25 years after painting his Sistine ceiling masterpiece he came back
to create his own vision for the Christian prophecy
of the Second Coming of Jesus Christ and the ensuing Last Judgement.
The dramatic depiction is marvelous, fresh, divinely passionate.
There are more than 400 faces and figures
alive in this great work, which required six years to complete,
two more than it took for him to paint the massive ceiling.
Michaelangelo was 67 years old when he finished the masterpiece.
As with my poem, The Sprigs And Spirit Of Sistine, this composition
is intended to be coupled with the Last Judgement he painted,
to honor it, and to give the work Voice. To fully appreciate
this poem one should familiarize themselves with the Sistine Chapel,
and to even follow along, image to image, body to body,
voice to voice so to experience the inspiration and spirit to a maximum.
I began composing this composition on May 7th, 2018,
and through the grace of Providence completed it on May 23rd,,
at 10:52 pm. Approximately 44 hours of intellectual labor
was invested into this work...Justin A. Bordner

In 1962, I was a caseworker, not a social worker, in the Cabrini-Green Housing Project in Chicago. In that era, the difference between a caseworker and a social worker was simple. A social worker had a degree or two in social work and was qualified to work with the poor. A caseworker usually had a degree but not in social work. And a caseworker usually had too many clients to have time to do social work even if he or she had a social work degree and knew how to apply it.
To be hired by Cook County Department of Public Aid as a caseworker in 1962, all one had to have was a degree in anything and the ability to pass a test. I passed the test and was assigned as a novice caseworker to Cabrini-Green, perhaps the “toughest" housing project in Chicago at that time. I was assigned to two high-rise buildings with 458 families. I remember their addresses as clearly today as the address of my childhood home. Some things one always remembers.
Being a caseworker in Cabrini-Green was not a job coveted by many. But I was fresh out of grad school, had a pregnant wife, and absolutely no interest in business where salaries, of course, were higher and “careers” potentially much better. I may not have had any training in social work but I really didn’t need any formal training to keep filling out and filing new forms for the many changes that occurred in the lives of the families in my “caseload.”
There are many stories of clients and their lives that I remember because they are impossible to forget. But the one I remember best may illustrate why some "poor people," even today, 50 years later, fail to climb the ladder of success as many middle-class and upper-class families wish they would, if not always for compassionate reasons.
My story involves a young black man, married with two children, who managed to graduate from a local junior college despite living in Cabrini-Green. I happened to see a notice in the neighborhood posted by a major grocery chain looking for a manager trainee at its nearby store. A high school diploma was required. I thought my client was more than qualified.
When I went with my client to the store to make his application, I thought nothing about the workers, at least the ones I saw, being all white and the customers being all black. This was 1962 and that composition would have raised no eyebrows in most stores in the neighborhood surrounding Cabrini-Green. I still thought my client had a chance to get the job. He had a degree from a junior college, looked comfortable in a white shirt and tie, and spoke “white English” in public. He seemed very intelligent.
I was probably about the same age as my client but I came from an all-white section of the city, home to blue-collar immigrants, and my father paid my college tuition. My client worked to pay his tuition and feed his family at the same time. Although I thought he would get the job at the grocery store, he never thought he would. But since I was his caseworker, he went along to fill out the application. Sadly he turned out to be right. And I learned a lesson that day that made a deep impression on me as a novice caseworker.
I can only hope that things are different today, and to some degree I suspect they are. Qualified minorities do get hired in many situations they would not have in 1962. Times change, in some ways for the better but not always for the better. And some things remain stiflingly the same.
Over the decades since, I have often wondered what might have happened to my client and his family. I thought about him again this morning when his mirror image appeared as a news reporter on a TV station in St. Louis. The young reporter looked almost exactly like my client and talked almost as well as he did. The reporter, however, looked as though he knew he would get the job at that station in 2015. My client knew the grocery store would not hire him in 1962.
In St. Louis now, black reporters and black anchors are not the exception to the rule, especially since the 2014 death of Michael Brown in one of our inner-ring suburbs, Ferguson.
I imagine the TV station required the young reporter to have a degree and probably the ability to speak “white English” in public. How he talks on his own time is his own business. After all, I was able talk any way I wanted to when I went home from my job at Cabrini-Green. My kids used to say I sometimes slipped into my father’s Irish brogue when things didn’t go exactly as I had planned. At times I still do. Our roots are always with us.
Donal Mahoney

Fragments United In Perfect Imperfection
And all the smeared colours unite into white
All
the
little
pieces
Fragmentation personified call it life
broken shards razor sharp at the cutting edge
where darkness meets red pastel indigo’s crown too far to assemble
smattered fracture to be launched from oblivion
baptism of fire watered aired earth’s grounds
Call it madness the insanity of bedlam’s cosmos
awaiting healthy chaotic pandemonium
entropy topsy-turvy balance yoyo’s stagnation
the juggler’s explosion
Universal trapeze trampoline free falling
on impact a pact with the devil which does not
Exist but for molecules here and there fused and divided
In haywire resolution for the shrapnel once smoothened
on the edges to nowhere
soothes pike’s spikes and the scalpel’s bond
super glues quivering
quakes in silence
The glass’ bits and crushed illusion of wholeness
deluded schisms shibboleths trenches mental warfare
burst crumbled unison tar potted gold at the end of rainbow prisms
condensed
reflected
circumscribed
blinding light assembled
peaceful resolution in disarray acceptance
inter-webbed connected intermingled
Liberation freedom in acceptance
en-storied en-lived enlivened
antagonised synchronicity
where life is narrated
and all the little pieces are
ONE
When evening falls at dawn
One story one life one body
one mind one soul my soul
my mosaic
Painted pained paned into a novel window
angle perspective
lens focus composition
beautiful concord
No more pieces’ disproportion
Convocation concocted congregating the dots
in the puzzle called broken pieces the bigger picture
lies in bed with Chronos and Kairos
does not lie rather resonates
salutes truth honest saltation the salt of
my shallow sorrows
jumping at me from out of
the box with some
marvellous marbles created from scraps
All The Little Pieces Poetry Contest
Broken Wings
13th September 2016

A combination of Prose and Free Verse:
The most thrilling and inspirational piece of music ever to reach my
ears is, without doubt, Handel's Messiah. I've never known anyone
who could experience a performance and remain unmoved by this
stirring composition. There is not a doubt in my mind that Handel
was inspired by God's Holy Spirit while writing the brilliant oratorio.
Since its first performance in 1742, Messiah has remained one of the
most popular works in music. From all accounts, Handel was surely
driven to push himself to the limit in its completion.
George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) was a German-born organist and
composer. He was born in Halle and began taking music lessons at the
age of seven. By the time he was 12, he was assistant organist at the
Halle cathedral. As a youth, he had a typical Lutheran education, and
began his work as a composer at the age of 18. Three years later, he
moved to Italy and worked there for several years, becoming one of
the most popular composers of Italian opera. He composed 46 Italian
operas, over 100 Italian solo cantatas, 32 oratorios, and many other
works. His anthem for the coronation of George II has been used for
all subsequent coronations. As an organist, he was considered without
peers.
At the age of 27, he moved to England, lived in London until his death,
and is buried in Westminster Abbey. He was 56 when he abandoned
opera and dedicated himself to composing oratorios. Messiah was the
first, and was presented in a theater in Dublin in 1742. Less than ten
years later, blindness forced him to give up composing but he remained
active. He conducted a Holy Week performance of Messiah the day before
he died. It was told of Handel, that he was so engrossed in his work during
the composition of Messiah, that he shut himself away in his study and
would not come out until it was completed. His housekeeper would bring
his food on a plate, knock on the door, and set the tray on the floor. When
she would return to retrieve the dishes, the food was invariably untouched.
He felt the excitement of true inspiration, and the urgency of recording it.
As he emerged, gaunt and unkempt, his eyes shone with an inner radiance,
and he declared that he had “. . .seen the great God himself.”
The power of this work has inspired millions since its first performance. The
text is a collection of quotations gathered from the Bible by Handel’s friend
Charles Jennens. It illustrates the foundations of Christianity in a series of
musical numbers that parallel the prophecy of Christ’s coming, his birth, life,
death, and resurrection. The main reason for the popularity of Messiah lies
in its glorious choruses, which display a variety of mood and technique.
“And the Glory of the Lord” is a happy dance-like chorus in triple time. In
“Surely He hath Borne our Grief's,” Handel portrayed grief with solemn
rhythms and thick harmony. The thrilling “Hallelujah Chorus” shows Handel
as a master of choral effects.
This poem was inspired by reading about George Frideric Handel's passionate
experience during the writing of Messiah.
What's That I Hear?
The bells are ringing,
listen, listen.
The angels are singing,
do you hear?
They are telling the story
once again.
The Son is exalted, exalted.
Handel's Messiah is heard
in heaven, as always.
What a gift God gave us
through one man,
willing to listen.
Listen closely,
listen with your heart,
what do you hear?
Reference: The Columbia Encyclopedia - Second Edition, 1950

Ever so often you come across a composition that leads one to take flight.
In the distance their are corridors that lead to places of resistance,
transformed we will glow such as these writings have taken you.
to different places with various faces and situations in focus
Bless your heart as you read :
With Wings In Flight
look at the mere gaze of the Albatross
overhead, making a special appearance,
let go of any ambition...,
choose the day
nature's beckoning call
how the Tulip's fall
away from here
I shed a single tear
no reason for fear
all draw ever so near
pillows in the parlor
why do we even bother
all come up shorter
a new day's sun
celebrate with a bit of fun
all out on the run
............................................................................
(2) Siamese Cat
a tiff or a tat
the restless cat
steal away his hat
no turning back
...............................................................................
(3) Lift up your heads
lying on your bed
lines are dull full red
got to get ahead
climbing to the peak
someone sprang a leak
not to mention the heat
we seek for shelter then find none
out on the run a bit of fun
call it what you will
lift up your heads
life is what you make it
get a cake and bake it
there's no real room to fake it
...................................................................................................
(4) Castle in my heart
enthroned
majestic
a castle in my heart
to solely impart
a reason for being
the mute between the gait
some may call it fate
such as two lovers tend to wait
what is the case
make no mistake
in certain fate
reach with pen or ink
a beacon of hope
castle in my heart
with words to start
a laugh in the dark
...................................................................................................................
(5) Freedom
freedom comes to those who wait
to stake your claim from outer space
the right notion to discern
another curtain turned,
shelter lies dormant
amidst it's beckoning plow,
a shoulder to cry...,
tear drops melt in your eyes
feeling to move ahead of the game
strike a tender chord of resistance
fain the fan of love
go deeper then ever before
it happened after 911
that drum roll of togetherness
a distant feather with no regrets
feelings of letting go
could have searched many years ago
time well spent in its flow
................................................................................................................
(6) The Rose
beneath the tangled weeds
there hides a rose
thick and radiating in it's light
a young lover grows very fond of it
caressed by a tender kiss,
melts fast with a parting wish
there's a sullen breeze naked in flight
that day is far spent forget the night
upon every situation there's an explanation,
a tug at nature's heart strings
coupled with a variation in a dream
love never forgets its second guess
are you forgetting ?
even secong guessing ?
start professing
love will wander from its distant shelter
no mere solitude
puts you in a mood
we hear the parade
a fight to embrace....
.......................................................................................................
(7) Miles From No Where
onto a waiting heart
savor its brand
when to understand
take him by the hand
lead me on this distant land
awake the day
through a narrow path I will tred
a whisper out in the corridor
the spirits are using me
over the head below the trees
miles from no where

(5) At the same time, the US was exploring space, and we were able to view the stars for the first time in space above the atmosphere. Earthbound telescopes have to look through miles of dirty air which distorts the images of stars that we see (this is why stars seem to twinkle) , so I refer to the air as an atmospheric blindfold that is burned up by spacefaring astronauts.
(6) Early landings were at sea, and on at least one landing the astronauts were taken to a waiting aircraft carrier where the cooks had baked a 300-pound 'Angel Food Cake' to welcome them home. The aircraft carrier had thousands of people on board waiting to party.
(7) Many 'religious' folk worried greatly in the late 1950s that NASA 'shooting holes in heaven' with its rockets might bring about the end of the world! I even wrote a poem about it!
(8) Space is not empty but contains millions of photons (a kind of sea) .
(9) The human eye contains both 'rods that can detect weak light' and 'cones that can detect colored light when the light is stronger.' The color disappears after dusk because the cones are not sensitive enough.
In any case, when I read my poem aloud to the class, both the Professor and all the English majors got suddenly quiet. It was the first time in my life that I had a strong sense of my potential as a future writer and a poet! I felt that all were genuinely impressed by what I had done!
Imitation: A Creative Compliment?
Well, of course, there are different kinds of imitation. A simple one would be to strike the poet's name and publish the poem as your own. But of course, if you do this often enough you will get caught eventually.
To write the same poem but change a few words, so it is not an exact copy would be another way to imitate. But in both of these cases, the intent is clearly to deceive others and where plagiarism rears its ugly head.
Foster Harris, a creative writing instructor at OU, wrote some books in the area of 'Writing To Sell' which are interesting, though perhaps outdated by now. Foster claimed that there are only a small number of actual plots available for writing a novel, less than ten as I recall. If that is so, then it certainly creates a problem for someone wanting to write an original work. He suggested to his students that they think of their writing as you would the weaving of a carpet. There are the supporting threads he called the 'warp' and the right angle threads he called the 'woof.' He suggested we think of the 'warp' threads as the plot, which while important play, mostly a supporting role. And then, there is the 'woof' which is the insight that you weave onto the warp. Your life education is what you get paid for (if you do!) Ha!
Now my imitation of Richard Wilbur's poem is two-fold. I wanted to write a composition that would hang on his scaffolding and also be thematically similar, a sort of snapshot of what I see and love when I look at the earth. Is this plagiarism? I would say not! But loving imitation, yes, a heaping spoonful. Though I doubt that Richard would even see his poem in mine, I have no qualms at all about honoring him for his influence on me. Never-the-less, I would argue that this poem is clearly mine and not his. And I would love to think that he might love my work as much as I do his!
****More to come!****